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You told me that my anger is unattractive. Actually, every part of me is unattractive right now. My hair is unwashed; my eyeliner is old and tear-smudged. I haven’t slept in days. There’s a collage of faces staring back at me from my Facebook page, people that you steamrolled into my world with abandon, people I can only assume I’ll never see again. There’s a stack of confused messages in my email inbox from my people, my people that you sucked into your world, people who were big fans of you, fans of us together, people who you’ve hurt, just like you’ve hurt me.
I have nothing to say to them. No explanation for your sudden change of heart. I’m left alone with my questions, my unattractive anger, piles of my returned stuff, and a card telling me to be well.